The Feel of Cotton
by SineTimore
Summary: Kate holds something of Rick's from the past that brings her comfort. A wee bridge built between season 2's "Boom" and some point beyond season 4's "Always".


It had been three months or two or just few weeks. Kate honestly had no idea – no cases to mark her days, no four more wake-ups until the weekend, no screaming alarm clocks. Right now she just was. _They _just were. It amazed her that things, life, could be so blurry and yet so clear at the same time. Comfortable.

They spent most days in close proximity and most nights clinging to each other as if they hadn't. The location varied, some nights at Castle's place and some nights at hers. This was their routine, their pattern, their unspoken agreement. She didn't want to lose herself in his world and he understood that quite well. In the past she had tried to push him away with biting words about how little he really knew her. This was admittedly not the case, and while that brought her moments of consternation, those moments were overshadowed by the hours of quiet elation. She had finally found it, him. More importantly, she had let it in.

He had been working diligently on his fourth Nikki Heat installment as his deadline approached – diligently working between long slow kisses on the couch…against the counter… in an available chair…occasionally they actually made it to a bed. He'd referred to it as "research" - as if he'd needed an excuse. She was more than willing to play along. She hadn't experienced much play in her life since, well, it had been a long time.

On that afternoon he had a meeting scheduled at Black Pawn to discuss "important" book matters, or so Gina had insisted. At this point in his career he wondered why he still had to participate in such formalities. That thought hit him like a runaway train as he made his way out of the office. She looked positively breathtaking perched in his window seat with a book in hand and he detested the idea of having to leave her. He watched her silently for a few moments, as he often did now, still in disbelief of the gift that life had bestowed upon him.

"You know," he said, "the only way you could look any sexier at this moment is if you had a Richard Castle novel in your hands."

She jumped, startled by the unexpected interruption.

"Castle," she barked, "how many times have I told you not to watch me like that? It's creepy."

"When you stop looking like _that_, Beckett, I'll stop watching you. And since that will never happen, I win this round."

Though it pained her to do so, she swallowed her prepared dismissal of his compliment, opting instead for flirtation which she knew would completely undo him.

"Why don't you bring your clever mouth over here and put it to better use," she purred.

He approached her like a jaguar stalking its prey.

"As much as I'd love to demonstrate my mouth's great prowess, I have to be at Black Pawn in thirty minutes for this damn meeting. I'm hoping it won't take very long but I never know what to expect from these things. When I _do_ get home, however," and his lips touched hers softly.

"I really need to head over to my place," she added, causing a noticeable change in his facial expression to one of the 'kicked in the shin by a schoolmate' variety. "I'm quite certain that without my intervention the dirty laundry is gonna start taking hostages in protest."

"Well, Beckett, there's no doubt in my mind that you'll put your stellar negotiating skills to good use and save the day – again," referring with pride to their brush with death at the bank a few months earlier. "I'll call you when I'm done. Oh, and if the socks get belligerent, text me a SOS."

"You'll be the first to know if I need backup, Castle," she responded sarcastically. "Get outta here. You're gonna be late and you wouldn't want to keep _Gina_ waiting."

"Beck-" he started to say when she grabbed his lapels and planted a searing kiss to his surprised lips. "Feigning jealously, Beckett? That's kinda sexy."

"Goodbye, Writer Boy. We can talk about how sexy I am later – or perhaps not _talk_ about it."

She raised a suggestive eyebrow as he backed away toward the door, mouth agape, daydreaming about how much they had not to talk about later on.

* * *

Her apartment was a wreck. It certainly didn't look like a cop lived there – bags of clothing scattered about, dishes in the sink, darkness from the blinds closed to the afternoon sun. She could imagine far better things to be doing with her time than this. Her brain thought several times about texting him in his meeting, rescuing him from the nods and phony smiles but her body thought better of it. Perhaps the longing might produce a more desirable outcome.

It seemed as though every article of clothing that she owned needed laundering. Between that and the tidying and the dozing off she had completely lost track of the time. It had been hours, apparently. She checked her phone and to her dismay there were no missed calls, no texts awaiting reply, no emails to open. _Where is he?_ After an hour more had gone by and she still hadn't heard from him, she resigned herself to the idea that she'd be spending tonight in her bed - alone. That hadn't happened very often in these weeks or months or however long they had been _they_.

She began the menial task of putting what seemed like everything she owned back in its place. As she opened the bottom drawer of her bureau, she felt herself pause and grin ever so slightly. She had her backup Castle for the night – the t-shirt.

She had lost nearly everything that she owned in that explosion years ago. Castle took her in, gave her a roof, a home, a safe place. Surely something from Alexis' or Martha's closets would have been more appropriate but at the time she was in no position to complain or question. Here it was, with her still - after all of this time and all of this getting to this place. Obviously he hadn't missed it at all and she'd always wondered why. He probably had a hundred of them, she'd surmised. It was made of the softest cotton she had ever felt against her skin which she'd noticed each time she'd worn it since the first. More than anything though, it was his (well, had been his – it was hers now) and as she removed her tank top and slipped the material over her body she felt comforted in every sense of the word.

The unexpected knock drew her to the front door and having arrived there with little thought she realized just how inappropriate her ensemble was for company. When she found Castle leaning against her doorframe all previous thoughts quickly ceased.

"Hey, beautiful," he breathed as his smile reached his eyes.

"I was beginning to think I should call the cops. Ironic, isn't it?" she retorted.

"I know, I should have called but that would have taken too much time and I just wanted to get here…to you."

"C+ on the sweet talk attempt, Castle. What the heck have you been doing all this time?"

She stepped aside and allowed him entry into her now presentable home.

"You ask me that as if I was paying attention to anything at all that happened over the last few hours. Seriously, had I known that meetings with publishing houses were going to be like _that_, I would have become a fireman."

"Like you could have pulled that one off, Castle," she teased.

"Oh, I know how to handle a hose, Beckett. I believe that I have proven that time and time again – to your very vociferous approval, I might add."

He stepped towards her and grabbed her in a tight embrace as if he hadn't seen her in weeks, not mere hours. As he released her slowly, smoothing his hands over her shoulders and down to her hands, he noticed it - his t-shirt. Beckett was wearing his t-shirt – and nothing else, which caused him immediate delight.

"You still have my shirt," he said with a more reverent tone than he had intended.

Her face flushed for a moment realizing that she had been so surprised (and happily so) that it was Castle at her door that she had forgotten what she was (and wasn't) wearing.

"Yes, I…" she managed to begin before being interrupted.

"It looks much better on you now – now that you're mine."

"I'm sorry, Castle, I should have given it back to you. I just…"

"Kate - "

He wanted to hear the rest of her thought but she seemed hesitant and he didn't want to push. He had been trying to improve his skills in the don't-push-Beckett department.

"Castle," she began, unable or unwilling to look him in the eye, "this may sound foolish but this t-shirt meant a lot to me then, certainly more than I was willing to admit to myself. And, it means even more to me now. It was of such comfort to me when Dunn took everything from me and you took me in. And then after my shooting when I couldn't be with you though I wanted it so badly. And on nights like tonight when I can't be with you…"

"But now that I _am_ here you can take it off, right?" he teased, giving her a reprieve from her obviously difficult admissions.

"I'm trying to be serious, Castle."

"I know and I'm sorry. You don't owe me any explanations, Kate. I didn't even realize that it was missing. Wow, that sounded a lot less pretentious in my head."

She knew that he wouldn't require any explanations but this was 'new Kate', or perhaps 'on-the-road-to-new Kate' was a better way of putting it. Too much time had been spent not saying and doing things that she had wanted to.

After staring down at it for a silent moment, she raised her head and her eyes to him.

"It's just," she stumbled, "it's more than just a shirt to me, Castle. It's more than the feel of it, it's the feeling I get from it. It was yours – then it was mine – now it's like it's ours. You are with me every time I wear it."

One step forward and her hands were on his hips, grabbing the shirt under his jacket in equal bunches on either side.

"I love that you kept it all this time, Kate, and I love seeing you in it. You, with me, like this, is perfect."

His hands found her face as his thumbs rubbed her beautifully defined cheekbones softly. He kissed her lips gently but with intention and she returned the gesture, squeezing his hips in excited response.

"Am I forgiven for my absence today?" he asked, already fairly certain of the answer.

Her lips traced the line of his neck towards his ear as she whispered, "You are forgiven."

"Can I spend the night or have I been replaced by my t-shirt?"

Her eyes met his as she backed slowly away from him.

He took one step towards her and she turned to move down the short hallway to the bedroom. Her hands grasped the bottom of the t-shirt with both hands and she removed it from her body, tossing it in his direction without looking back.

The garment hit him square in the chest but he barely took notice as his eyes never left the magnificence of her now unclad back. He flung the article over the nearest piece of furniture, whispering self-contentedly to himself, "you know what they say – accept no substitute" and he made his way to her.


End file.
